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OUR "AIN COUNTRIE"

Days follow days, the traversed path grows longer,
 Our backward glances scan the toilsome way;
The hours seem shorter, on the western mountains
 Earlier the sunset glories close the day;
Almost from sunny uplands we can see
The fadeless verdure of our "ain countrie."

Swift glides the boat across the silent river,
 And angel-guided, one by one they go;
The friends whose feet have walked the path beside us,
 To pastures green, where the still waters flow;
There safely sheltered, to forever be
In some fair mansion of our "ain countrie."

Some have left monuments of earnest effort,—
 Some have sung songs that other lives will cheer;—
Some bore the cross of weary pain while waiting,
 Till life's strange tangles show their meaning clear,
Why folded hands, not work, their lot should be,
Till came their summons to our "ain countrie."

There we shall understand why hopes were shat—tered,—
 Ambitions laid aside,—joys merged in pain;
Why shadows dimmed the light of early morning,
 And life at midday sought for strength in vain.
All will be clear, when from earth's fetters free,
We hear the summons to our "ain countrie."

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